


respite

by hungry_hobbits



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Day 1, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Missing Moments, Rare Pairings, i know i'm like 3 days late and only posting day 1, trpw2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungry_hobbits/pseuds/hungry_hobbits
Summary: Morfin seemed to exist in a fog thicker than usual. So thick he barely registered the carpenter’s presence or their elbows pressed snugly together through layers of knit and wool.Two funerals, a dash on the ice, and a bear attack. Morfin just needs some rest.-Written for The Terror Rarepair Week - Missing Moments Monday
Relationships: John Weekes/John Morfin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2019





	respite

Morfin hadn’t been right for a long while, since they left the safety of Greenland to now he had been on a slow decline, and whatever happened on the ice that brought him running back to the ships a half frozen and fully frightened mess certainly did not help his case. Whatever happened to Gore out there, the captains and the lieutenants wouldn’t say, and Morfin wouldn’t speak on it either, despite how quietly convinced as he was that whatever bad luck befell them on the shale had followed them back to the ships.

Sailors were a superstitious breed. One could not help but be when faced with a constant unknown.

Weekes found Morfin brooding after Sir John’s funeral, after all the mournful songs were sung and fumbled through with teary eyes and cracked voices, after everyone had shuffled away to process the two back to back blows to authority _Erebus_ had taken within the span of a few days. It was enough to make anyone brood, and Morfin was caught with a look of absence on his face, a face that had seemed to age ten years with death looming in everyone’s minds.

Morfin seemed to exist in a fog thicker than usual. So thick he barely registered the carpenter’s presence or their elbows pressed snugly together through layers of knit and wool. Weekes offered him a cigarette, to which Morfin declined. Neither man seemed inclined to move, the closeness a simple reprieve.

“Wish I was back home,” Morfin spoke with an exhausted softness, “I’m sure Thomas is havin’ a better time of it than I am.”

“He’s probably miserable without you.” Weekes smiled and leaned against Morfin so that now their shoulders were pressed firmly together, “At least he’s warm.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Weekes laughed and with it, Morfin managed to tear himself from whatever dark, unseen thing held his gaze and cracked a smile.

They existed there in the dark, Morfin’s head beginning to lull to one side as if it was too heavy, but really it was filled with a buzzing pain that was more troublesome than it was worth. He couldn’t remember when it started, but it didn’t matter, not now at least. Weekes moved his head to meet the AB’s, letting Morfin’s temple come to rest on his curls.

“What I think you need is a rest.”

“What I need is a drink. Good n’ stiff.” He could think of something else good and stiff that he could use, though the admittance of what that could be might earn him another visit from the cat o’ nine in the wrong company. Luckily Weekes wasn’t the incorrect sort of company to make those sorts of jokes around, if Morfin had the energy to make them.

Weekes slid his hand up Morfin’s back until his hand was planted firmly on the man’s opposite shoulder and spoke from behind a smirk, “Think if we walk over to _Terror_ n’ ask nicely, Crozier will give us a little whack for your nerves?”

“Doubt there’ll be any left before the ice thaws.” Morfin sighed, feeling the weariness in his bones but the weight of Weekes against him kept him grounded if only for then, “Jus’a moment more, then I’ll settle.”

“Aye.” Weekes punctuated his confirmation with a kiss to the AB’s aching temple, “As long as you need, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> _little whack_ \- a small quantity of spirits
> 
> hungry-hobbits.tumblr.com


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